Ausform
by inconsistentlypresent
Summary: aus·form: to subject to deformation and tempering to increase its strength and improve its wear properties. * In which Hux hangs out with officers who don't recognize him. [Full prompt in the A/N.]


**A/N: This was written a while back for the following prompt on tfa-kink:**

 _Hux finds himself sharing a common room with the command staff of another ship while planetside for a FO event. They know the General is here but there isn't a lot of televised events/PR and most ships are an ecosystem unto themselves, as the FO is small and paranoid. Hux – caught in his undershirt – is mistaken for someone of a rank more fitting his age, maybe a major._

 _He doesn't correct them. He doesn't lie; he just… neglects to mention specifics._

 _Hux didn't make friends easily – or at all – as a child. Between his father, singular zeal for the Order, and his sharp personality he just didn't... mesh well, though he was always talented gathering subordinates (which isn't at all the same thing). As an adult, he rose in the ranks too quickly to make lasting intimate relationships or have a social agenda, and besides – there was too much envy to risk it. So this is very novel, for him, to be treated as a part of the group. It feels very illicit, and thrilling, and a little foolish. They invite him to a game of cards, talking amongst themselves informally. Nobody is watching their words or picking at him for an advantage. There is gossip. It's… fun. It's unseemly. He is seriously considering slinking off among this group of his— peers, in a fashion, for drinks._

 _And then someone walks in and begins to speak with General Hux._

* * *

The cool, temperature-regulated air of the hallway sweeps up Hux's arms. He's only wearing his plain black underclothes, the ones usually hidden under his uniform, but the lack of proper clothing is acceptable at present time. He has nothing to command. Besides, he has more pressing issues now than his appearance, as his loose hair suggests.

The air in the Vitiator feels different. It is a newer ship. While Hux can appreciate the clean wall panels, the floors that shine as practically their own light source, he misses the Finalizer. It's somewhat older and battle-worn but that is what makes it his. At least they smell the same: clean, with a hint of burnt metal. The smell of space.

The other day - or night, since they adapted Arkanis's time - Hux scouted out the various common rooms. He has access to them all. The one he liked most was empty then, though he knows that the Vitiator's command staff can access the room, as well as a few other officers. Silver chairs surrounded sleek tables, and one side of the room was dedicated to a large window with a spectacular view of the planet's swirling grey surface.

The Vitiator, along with several other ships, is orbiting Arkanis. The planet houses the newly re-established training facilities for First Order officers. They are awaiting the arrival of General Yew. Once he arrives, they can proceed to the surface. They will then attend the annual conferences, as well as the ceremony to honor the recently deceased Commandant Hux. The ceremony is the only reason Hux is here, though with no small measure of reluctance.

Hux has had a writer's block, of sorts, these past few days. Typically Hux likes writing speeches. But he's having difficulty stringing together words about Commandant Hux that don't include "terrible father" and "decrepit mind" and "I will celebrate his death as the greatest blessing ever bestowed upon this galaxy, and I advise all present today to do the same and savor the long-overdue departure of this wretched excuse for a man".

But the speech won't write itself. So, clenching his datapad in his hand, he finds that common room again. If he's typing up lies, he might as well do that next to a pleasing view instead of in his impersonal quarters. Hux punches in his number, and waits for the doors to open before striding into the room.

He stumbles from surprise, and the clumsiness causes his face to heat up. Several officers sit in chairs turned towards the window, their manner reminiscent of jebwa flowers towards the sun. Some are in a state of undress similar to Hux, but others remain in their uniforms. The lights are bright, almost at one-hundred percent.

Hux wants to back away and find a different common room, but one man - wrinkled and dark-skinned, with greying hair - sees him, and calls, "Hey, you there - come join us!"

Hux's first instinct is to refuse. His father's words, drilled into Hux's mind since childhood, echo through him. 'Indulging in frivolity is the single-most harmful thing to your reputation. Your men should respect you, not see you a fool." Besides, once they see him, they will know who he is, and they won't want anything to do with him.

Hux followed his father's instructions to the letter, all throughout the academy. Followed them until he was old enough to know that not all of it was right. Sometimes, Hux wishes he hadn't been so obedient. If not for his father, his peers might have a different attitude towards him.

But even then, Hux knows they wouldn't accept him. Hux, after all, was always more interested in reading about the Empire's battle strategies than chatting with his classmates. His instructors were prone to noting his unsociability in progress reports, but they often mistook his accruement of subordinates as friendship, and marked it as an improvement. And when Hux was quickly clawing his way through the envy and manipulation that plagued his ascent to his current position - friendliness had no place there, either. Some things are undeniable; Hux was never meant for companionship.

But then Hux glances through the window and sees the planet next to them, and remembers that it's where, decades ago, Commandant Hux established Arkanis Academy. His tense grip on his datapad slacks slightly. Commandant Hux was wrong about a great many things. And Hux is always looking to prove him wrong, even now.

So Hux treads forward. "Sure," he says. In his mind, his father hisses, 'What are you doing?'

'Shut up,' Hux orders.

They pull up a chair for him. Hux finds himself seated between a woman with a seemingly permanent scowl, and the old man who'd invited him. Other than the old man, the officers appear around his age. Their bearings have a sense of languidness. Hux, somewhat self-conscious of his stiff posture, makes an honest but unsuccessful attempt to relax.

"Move over, give me some room," the woman says, voice brusque and husky. Her curly brown hair springs out around her face. She must slick it back while on duty.

Hux stares at her, taken aback. He supposes it's possible. Ships don't interact much with one another, and they rarely broadcast events, for security reasons. But he's still surprised. They don't know who he is. When they look at him, they don't see a newly promoted general - one of the youngest generals in the history of the First Order. They don't see him as an obstacle, an upstart, a leech feeding off of his father's legacy.

The freedom of such anonymity bewilders Hux for a moment, before he comes back to himself. He scoots over to give her space, and also to make room for the officer dealing cards. "What's your rank?" he blurts out, to the woman next to him. It's instinctual. It's the question that he asks, with disdain, any officer he does not recognize. As soon as the words leave his mouth, they seem too forward, and wrong. From experience, Hux knows that people find his pointedness off-putting.

Though, the woman does not look put off. In fact, she appears amused. "Why don't you try guessing it?" she says, as she scrutinizes her hand of cards.

Hux can't bring himself to spit a scathing response. He's unsure of what the woman is trying to do. Surely there are more effective ways to rebuff his question. Unless she actually wants him to guess her rank. Is she baiting him on purpose? Hux, torn between disgust and curiosity, decides on the latter, for now.

Hux hears the crude slap of cards being dealt before him, and he picks them up before he loses his nerve. "Commander?" he hazards. It's better to underestimate than overestimate these kinds of things. He knows that much, at least.

One of the other officers laughs, a thick, hearty sound. Hux isn't sure he's heard something so sincere directed to him in years. "Close! She's _Major_ Sier now. Her promotion was well overdue. This is our shoddy attempt at a celebration."

Hux thinks he understands now. The woman - Major Sier - asked him to guess her rank because she wanted him to know the purpose of this gathering, without talking about her own accomplishment and coming across as arrogant. His question had been appropriate after all, even if it was blunt. Hux relaxes a little, and glances at the woman next to him again. He remembers when he was promoted to major. He'd had his customary celebration: wine, a book, and a couple hours of reading in the isolation of his quarters.

People start setting down cards. Hux is vaguely aware of the rules. He's never played the game before, only heard of it. But he catches on, and infers what he's supposed to do, and on his turn he sets down a few cards, and says a phrase, and no one gives him a funny look. So he's got the hang of it. Hux smiles to himself, in part because he's relieved, and in part because he feels rather smug that he's getting away with this at all. The whole situation is a game in itself, all the more exciting because it's real.

The man to his right - the one who invited him - shakes his head. "The officers keep getting younger and younger. You look just out of the academy," he tells Hux.

"Oh, give him a little credit, colonel," says Major Sier. Her scowl turns out to not be so permanent. She's almost smiling at the old man. "I wager he's a captain, at least."

Hux knows he looks young, especially when he's not in uniform, but he's still a bit miffed. However, he doesn't have the time to be offended. He can sense the conversation heading into dangerous territory. He doesn't enjoy lying, but the illusion they've created for him is too fascinating to interrupt. "What was the academy like when you went there?" he asks the colonel. Nostalgia preys on the old. Commandant Hux was a prime example; surely this man is no different.

As soon as the query is out of Hux's mouth, the people around him groan. Hux is about to reprimand them all for such a brazen show of disrespect, but the colonel doesn't seem bothered, so Hux restrains himself, if with reluctance.

The colonel smiles widely. "It was one of the best experiences of my life. Where do I begin?" The other officers appear to have heard this all before, judging from the weary-but-indulgent looks they exchange, but Hux pays rapt attention. He's struck by the differences.

When the colonel refers to "revenge" he means fiddling with the sonic showers to cause his classmates' hair to stand on end. When Hux was at the academy, "revenge" was sabotaging datapads to show evidence of illegal activity. At the academy, the colonel reveled in the gelled mess that was his enemies's hair; while Hux reveled in the sight of his enemies, handcuffed, being ushered away to a juvenile penitentiary.

"- and he says to me, 'Thrippe, I know you're the one who tampered with the showers.' I had cleaning duty for a week!" Colonel Thrippe laughs. "But my friends helped out, even though it was against regulation."

It's clear that Hux and the colonel's academic experiences are about as similar as the Finalizer is to the Vitiator. Still, Hux thinks that if he were ever careless enough to get caught, his subordinates would be quite eager to do his chores for him. The loyalty of followers, he assumes, is a reasonable equivalent to the loyalty of friends. So Hux isn't lying, per se, when he nods and says, "I see," to some of the ridiculous situations that the colonel describes.

"Say, you're playing well, captain," Colonel Thrippe says to Hux. "If we were playing for money, you would have all of it." His words are amiable, and Hux can't detect an underlying threat, but Hux knows how quickly suspicion can be aroused. The colonel, as evidenced by his stories, has a good memory and an eye for detail. From then on Hux is mindful to play neither too well nor too badly.

Hux likes the colonel. He would be a pleasant presence on a ship, welcoming and reasonable. But Hux also can't help but think about how easily he could end the colonel's career. It wouldn't be difficult at all. People distrust kindness, especially during war.

"Did you see that hairstyle General Tempto sported the other day?" the officer who dealt the cards asks. She has a light accent, green-tinged skin, and purpled lips. She's part-human, then, and lucky to have been accepted into the academy. Though years have passed since the empire, many people, including Hux's father, clung to its archaic ideas, such as human superiority.

"It's terrible," another officer agrees. "You can tell she's trying to keep up with the Core's current styles. My kid sister has the same hair."

They all laugh. Hux doesn't, too caught up in his thoughts. Of course he's overheard gossip before, it's unavoidable, but never discussed so openly before him. The conversation may not be the most savory, but what's Hux appreciates is the meaning behind it, or the lack, thereof. No ulterior motive lurks beyond the words, like an enemy ship behind a cloaking device.

Major Sier turns to Hux. "I don't understand what goes on in the Core, sometimes. Have you ever been, captain?"

"Yes, it's a peculiar place," Hux agrees. "The First Order will set things right, once we vanquish them. They'll be concerned with other things, then." His mind drifts to the highly classified plans for Starkiller, and Hux's heart skips a beat in excitement.

He's dead serious, but the group of officers start laughing again. "So morbid!" says the officer who dealt the cards. The audible twang in her voice isn't just laughter, but the natural way she speaks. "Lighten up, captain. It's a simple conference. We'll just be checking up on the facilities, bring each other up to speed. No need for all - that." She waves her hand.

Hux should have known better. His unnatural fervor for the First Order hadn't endeared him to people at the academy, either. "Sorry," Hux mumbles. Immediately, he's shocked at himself. He doesn't mumble. Hux prides himself on his clear speech. He waits for them to take advantage of his slip-up.

But instead, they continue gossiping about their superior officers. Even though a few of them look at Hux with amusement, it's not his failure that's funny to them. The revelation is a punch to his face, unprecedented and painful, and his heart palpitates as a result. They think _he's_ funny. And they're . . . fond of him, for that.

"This conference is different, though," Colonel Thrippe reminds. "We're also here to honor Commandant Hux."

A smirk twitches in the corner of Major Sier's mouth. "Speaking of which, did you hear that General Hux is on the Vitiator? Finally joining the rest of us mere mortals."

Hux freezes up. He keeps his eyes trained on his hand of cards. Panicked thoughts careen through his mind, like malfunctioning speeders. Did she know his identity the entire time? Was she toying with him, in order to humiliate him to the fullest extent? Hux tries desperately to get a handle on himself. To get back his usual emotionless mask. It's more difficult than it usually is.

"Is that so?" he says, keeping his voice level. He looks up to search her face for anything, a hint that she knows, but she's turning away, talking to the others.

"He never shows up to the conferences," she explains. "Thinks he's too good for them. My cousin works on the Finalizer, says he's an ass." She looks over at Colonel Thrippe. "Pardon my language, sir."

Colonel Thrippe smiles at her. His expression is akin to how an instructor would smile at a favored pupil. "It's your special day, major, so I'll bend the rules for you. Besides -" he lowers his voice "- I've heard similar things."

They're laughing again. Hux can't bring himself to be angry at them. It's - it's not their fault that they dislike him. He's never tried to endear himself to anyone. Hux is the only one responsible for his own reputation.

Hux wonders if he was mistaken to keep his distance from other people. It would be pleasant, after a battle, to talk with a group of his peers. To joke and snip about their coworkers. Hux saves the idea in his mind, for future use, or at least review. At any rate, it's certainly interesting to hear what people think of him, without filtering themselves.

Major Sier wins the game by a landslide. Hux isn't sure whether that's because she is truly good at cards, or because her comrades allowed her to win. The second possibility, though a phenomenon which Hux has observed before, is one he cannot understand. Why would one accept a victory borne only of other people's mercy?

"I'm so tired of all this delay," one of the officers complains. "General Yew's ship just had to have a shield malfunction. He should have flown to Arkanis anyway. Security risks, my ass. No one'll attack that fossil."

Major Sier gets a glint in her eyes. "Yew's not arriving until late morning tomorrow," she says, voice low but excited. "It's only 1900 here. We can fly out to Vasch, and have a few drinks, and get back before it's too late."

A murmur of agreement arises from the group. Hux half expects Colonel Thrippe to chastise them all, as the senior officer, but no - he's smiling with the rest of them.

A strange excitement tingles in Hux's body, like a trickle of cold water. They're supposed to stay put. They're risking getting caught, a possibility Hux doesn't even want to think about. It's plain irresponsible. But - it may just be worth it. For a moment Hux remembers that he needs to write the speech about his father, but he decides it can wait.

"By the way," Major Sier says to Hux, "I never caught your name, captain. We can't get drunk together if we don't even know you."

Hux hesitates. A flash of white-hot panic jumps through his heart, making it pound faster. His father's voice whispers in his ear: Lie well. You need people's trust if you're ever going to amount to anything.

Hux feels the datapad balanced on his lap quiver. He realizes it's because he's shaking.

The door opens with a distinctive whoosh. The relief that floods Hux's lungs chokes him, and he feels dizzy. They all turn to the new arrival. It's only a stormtrooper. Their nondescript armor reflects the bright light of the common room. Hux finds himself squinting a little.

The stormtrooper salutes awkwardly to the room, and Hux frowns in disapproval. The stormtrooper must be new, if they haven't mastered such a basic gesture –

But that train of thought comes to a screeching halt when the stormtrooper faces Hux.

"General Hux, General Yew requests your presence in holo-room B. He said something about a delay in his arrival."

Hux's throat is dry. He's acutely aware of the hushed silence around him. The beginnings of anger flicker in his mind as he stares at the stormtrooper, but the sparks don't catch. For a wild second, he wonders if he can deny his identity. If he can tell the stormtrooper that they're mistaken. But realization burns deep in his bones: this was bound to happen.

"Tell him I will be there shortly," he says. His voice trembles at the end. Hux takes a deep breath, futilely hoping to compose himself.

If he's losing their trust, he might as well lose it completely. "And tell him that I hope his officers are more disciplined than the ones on the Vitiator." No one says anything, but Hux feels the tension in the room rise. He's steeped in it, like a drowning victim in water.

The stormtrooper salutes again. "Yes, sir." Those familiar words fill Hux's ears, a reminder of reality. Then the soldier is gone.

Hux considers turning around and saying something. He doesn't know what. Still, doesn't he owe them an explanation?

But his tongue is heavy and unwieldy in his mouth. In the end, Hux doesn't spare them a backwards glance. He walks out the room. As soon as the doors shut behind him, Hux lets out a broken breath. He stares up at the pristine ceiling, drops his datapad with a loud clatter, and digs his fingernails into his palms, letting the prickling pain balance out the screaming in his head.

He was foolish to think that he could be what he was not. But - he blinks hard - at least the experience wasn't pointless. Every failure can be learned from. The harder a lesson is to learn, Commandant Hux used to say, the more useful it is.

Hux curls his hands into tight fists. He's only learned one thing - he doesn't belong in that room. He doesn't belong with those people. The lump in the back of his throat, the stifling pressure on his chest, crushing him into splinters - it's inconsequential. Hux walks his own path, and if it so happens to be lonely, that doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter.

Hux starts to adjust himself. Straightens his clothes, swipes a hand through his hair, picks up his datapad. He's not sure if he's imagining the muffled voices behind the door, swelling in his ears until his head throbs and pulses along with his hurtling heartbeat. Hux schools his face so it's blank again, and pushes the entire debacle from his mind.

It shouldn't matter.


End file.
